


Blood and Ashes

by EledoneCirrhosa



Category: 2000 AD (Comics), Strontium Dog
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-30
Updated: 2017-06-30
Packaged: 2018-11-21 12:18:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11357364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EledoneCirrhosa/pseuds/EledoneCirrhosa
Summary: In the aftermath of Johnny Alpha's death, some unexpected visitors turn up in the Milton Keynes mutant ghetto.





	Blood and Ashes

**Author's Note:**

> This story was originally printed in issue 1 of Dogbreath, my Strontium Dog fanzine. The early issues are available as free pdfs on the Quaequam Blog: http://thequaequamblog.blogspot.co.uk/2012/06/dogbreath-volume-01-archive.html

It was bright this morning. Sharp and clear, although the ground was still wet from yesterday's rain. Feral hunched further into shadow, grimacing at the pain the light brought to his eyes. Fumbled for his shades and settled them to his satisfaction, before shifting forward again into the sun. It might be strong enough to burn his skin; difficult to judge when there was a chill in the air. Shitty luck being albino. He hated the cold and wet of winter, but had to hide away in summer or stumble about burned and half-blinded. He wondered idly if Middenface knew some offworld place with a sun that wouldn't tear his eyes to pieces.

There was an offer of relocation now; a partial attempt to calm some of the post-coup paranoia, make some reparations. Probably hoping to off-load a few more trouble-makers. Maybe he would take up the offer and maybe he wouldn’t. There was little for him here, but he harboured no illusions that his kind would be any more welcome on another world.

He had a good vantage point, as always. Feral the wraith, Feral the stalker. Feral who knew rooftops and alleyways better than he knew ordinary streets. Claws were good for climbing.

Today, as all this week, he sat and watched the queue of people forming in front of the old MA building to ask about missing friends and relatives. The police had lists of the dead. Incomplete, but better than nothing. Feral himself had supplied some of the names. Seen friends die, seen the bones scattered on a Lyran plain. Alpha...

_He knew, Middenface. He must have found out when he read the Lyran's mind. The magic on its own wasn't enough. To open a gateway, a blood sacrifice was needed. Johnny's blood._

_And it worked. Everybody else got back safe... Everybody else gets a happy ending... Except Johnny._

_ Why  _ _Middenface? Why him?_

Feral clenched his teeth, feeling his throat constrict again. Feeling alternate rage and numbness, as he had for the past three weeks. He could kill it if he got blind drunk. That had worked for a week at least.

He looked across at the ragged line of mutants and felt guilt war with his grief. They had lost people too. Family... friends. He had barely known Johnny a week. The Alpha of legend belonged as much to them as to him.

There were about twenty people at the moment. Numbers were dying away day by day. The few bodies from this side of the gateway had been claimed; the dead mourned for. These last were latecomers. Some were relatives from out of town, but most of those here had simply been too frightened to come forward before. Feral knew of families who hadn't emerged until a week after the Churchers had gone and a precarious amnesty been declared.

There were a couple of norms here too, lounging against the building opposite Feral's vantage point. News people; from the Scandinavian Union, these ones. Waiting to see if anything interesting happened when the cops turned up to update the listings and answer questions about the dead. There had been a lot of media people about since the truth about Sagan's rule came out. Damn few when the slaughter was going on.

Feral had followed this pair yesterday, suspicious of any norms in his territory, whatever their motives. Had made sure they knew they were being followed too. Stalked on the edge of their vision when they were on the move; arrogantly aloof but always within earshot when they halted. And tantalisingly out of reach when they got frustrated and turned their attention to him.

They were watching him now. Had focussed their camera on him earlier. He grinned at them maliciously. Maybe he should feed their paranoia by shadowing them again today.

Tusker from the Goblin Horde was down in the courtyard, hanging about the listings. There to read through them for those that were not literate. It was a struggle for Tusker, but she was better than most. And Feral couldn't take it any more - the desperation, the hope, the sorrow.

So many couldn't read, despite all Billy Glum's efforts. Feral's own interest in literacy had only been sparked by frustration at not being able to decipher the gang scrawls and slogans. Street kid. Never been anything else - never wanted to be anything else. Thieved and brawled, scrounged and scavenged with the best of them. Poor Billy; all his efforts ever came to was better spelling in the graffiti.

There was a flurry of movement as the cops finally appeared. The straggling line tightened up and some bystanders from around the courtyard added themselves to the queue. The cops shouldered their way past the foremost with very little in the way of courtesy. A great choice for breaking news to grieving relatives.

One of the norms carried a portable terminal. The beat up old machines in the Mutant Association not good enough for you, eh? Feral scowled at them as they pulled open the front door. An MA representative scurried forward to meet them, and they spoke briefly before turning to set up their stuff in the hallway.

The queue and the angle obscured most of his view now. Feral rose and walked with exaggerated carelessness along the roof edge to a better position. He acknowledged a called greeting from Tusker with a half wave, and dropped to a crouch again. Surprisingly, the media-norms were paying no attention. Their interest was focussed on a couple approaching the rear of the queue. Two women… no, a woman and a girl. The youngster was curious in a nervous way, chewing at lower lip as she looked around her. Blonde, with a slight frame, but none of the usual bone-thinness which would mark her as mutant. The woman - enough facial resemblance to the girl to be mother or older sib - was calmer, watching the entrance to the MA building and paying attention to little else. And then Feral finally registered the fashionable clothes, healthy demeanour, well-fed frames. As the news people had already done.

"Norms!" He hissed it between his teeth, hackles rising.

What did norms want here? He scowled at them as they joined the end of the queue, until it dimly penetrated his hostility that everyone had norm relatives somewhere back along the line. Feral was third generation, but not everyone went that far back.

The cops had finally noticed the anomaly of the newcomers. Quick off the mark as ever, eh? Why did such lamebrains always end up patrolling the ghetto? Too stupid to be trusted in the upmarket duties, he supposed. One of the police walked up the line to where the norm woman stood. Feral watched the girl dodge partially behind her companion - mother? - at the man's approach. Was the youngster mutant after all?

The cop was clearly offering the woman a chance to jump the queue. Feral didn't need to hear words - the gestures were clear enough. Behind her, at least one of the newshounds had a camera rolling. The scene was the centre of attention now, the muties nearest to the cop sidling away. There was hostility in the faces of those further up the line.

More hostility emanated from shapes in one of the alleys on the far side of the courtyard. Shadows peeled themselves off walls, revealing themselves to be a trio of Ghouls; a gang allied to the Goblin Horde. He saw Tusker pump her fist once: _follow my lead in this._ Feral signed back agreement and willingness to participate. Just try claiming privilege here norm and there'll be a riot the likes of you've never seen in your cozy protected life. He balanced on his toes on the roof edge, ready to leap into the square below on Tusker's signal.

It never came. He watched the norm woman shake her head, wave her hand at the couple of dozen people ahead of her. Saw the cop start to object, then belatedly notice the attention centred on him, and realise what it might mean. A realisation the media guys had already reached; while one filmed the norms, the second had scanned all the possible combatants and a couple of escape routes.

The cop backed down. Said something to the woman that earned him a frown and a sharp word. He turned and strode back to his companions, obviously angry at his inability to control the situation. Feral had already settled back on his heels as Tusker gave the all-clear. One of the Ghouls peeled away from his companions and darted off up the alley; gone to alert others to possible trouble, as the cops were doubtless alerting their own.

Did the woman realise the danger, or did she genuinely have enough decency to stand and wait in line? Norms had other methods of getting information; they could access files directly, didn't need to queue here in the mud. Didn't have to publicly admit to the stigma of a mutant in the family. This bore investigation.

He let himself drop from the rooftop. Alighted for barely a second on the window ledge two metres below; only long enough to crouch and twist into another jump to a dry portion of the courtyard. He landed on all fours, clawed fingers spread. No need of hands to absorb impact for such a short drop, but well aware of the animal impression it gave.

He smiled viciously at the shocked expressions of the two media hounds. Jump from that height would have broken your bones, eh norm? Aww... He rose, and with an arrogance in his stride entirely directed at the media hounds, sauntered to where Tusker sat. The norm girl was watching him, but the woman barely glanced, preoccupied.

A couple of brief hand signals passed between him and Tusker as he approached. _Cover while I listen, okay?_

Feral settled beside the other mutant, muttering a greeting, then appeared to watch intently as Tusker drew some sort of map in the mud. But his attention was elsewhere, ears straining to hear anything the norms said as the queue moved up to the terminal.

Tusker elbowed him in the knee to draw his attention to what she was doing. "Stront" she had written, and now tapped the place on her map where the norm woman stood.

Feral signalled disbelief. No way was she a Strontium Dog. Too soft.

 _Looking for. Told cop_ , Tusker signed back.

Feral thought about this, resisting the temptation to stare at the norm. Maybe there was truth in it - searching for some Stront that died when the Doghouse went up. If a bounty hunter struck it big, made a lot of money, maybe some norms would tolerate the stigma of association with a mutant. He had always heard that some of the Stronts took norm lovers. It had been yet another betrayal to fuel his youthful hatred of them.

He understood the error of that now. Understood that perhaps the Stronts didn't all live for money. That maybe they were not all norm loving bloodsuckers. Alpha and McNulty certainly hadn't been. They remembered the old bloodlines, the old cause… the old fight.

The queue shuffled up gradually, a few more latecomers joining the tail end. Feral settled back to his listening again, shoving long hair nonchalantly back from his pointed ears as if to better display his earrings to the world. He steeled himself to ignore the quiet sobbing of the mutie couple now moving away. Another relative confirmed as irretrievably dead.

The norm woman moved past the edge of his vision as she stepped forwards to take her turn. The girl shadowed her, a nervous glance darted at him and Tusker.

"Name?" The cop asking was trying to feign indifference, but only partially succeeding. His companions were silent but presumably attentive.

"Webster. Ruth Webster." Her accent was English; south-west he thought. Not off-world, then.

"ID?" He heard the light tap of a card being dropped on the desk, and the cop's grunt of acceptance. What did he need ID for?

"Mattock says you're kin to a Strontium Dog?" Doubt tinged the man's voice.

"That's right." No apology in the tone.

Feral could almost warm to this norm.

"No-one on the Doghouse survived," another of the cops broke in. "It blew completely..." He trailed off uncertainly.

"Yeah - no carcasses to be claimed." His companion did not share the sentiment.

Feral heard a small gasp that must be the girl.

"Damn you!"

Involuntarily, Feral's gaze swung in the woman's direction. She was angry, the youngster hugged protectively to her.

"You're here to provide information, not upset children."

"Who gives a toss about some dead mutie?" the first cop snarled. Beside Feral, Tusker growled a threat under her breath.

"I do!" spat Webster. "And unless you want those journalists invited over here, I suggest you at least make a _pretence_ that you do too."

The pair locked gazes for a few seconds, but it was the cop that backed down, muttering inaudibly. He scowled at those beyond the norm woman, including Feral in his stare. The young mutant shrugged disdainfully and turned his head away. Hazing cops was fair play, but at the moment listening was more useful than being chased out of the square.

"I'll need a name." The tone was still surly.

"Of course." Webster's reply was calm, exaggeratedly polite. "His name was John Alpha."

Feral froze.

There was an aggressive snort from the cop, but the noise of tapping at keyboard carried. Alpha's rep on Earth had faded in the long years since the war, though some of the norms still remembered. But _kin_? Alpha didn't have kin. Surely Middenface would have mentioned...? He had sent word to various people - mostly surviving Dogs - but never said anything about relatives. Feral twisted round and stared openly, all caution gone.

"Dead." The cop sounded smug.

Feral drew back lips in a snarl. Where were you when the coup happened, norm? Hiding somewhere or just turning a blind eye?

"Died in Utopia," the man continued. "Several witnesses." He held a datadisk between finger and thumb, shook it. "Official confirmation of death."

The disk was slid across the table top to the woman. She reached out hesitant fingers to lightly touch, then abruptly closed her hand over it and swept it out of sight. "Thank you," she said coldly.

The child was upset, ready to cry. Webster had an arm round her, started to pull her away gently. Feral started to rise - ready to follow - but Tusker clamped a hand on his shoulder warningly. Irritated, he twisted to face her, clawed hand flexing instinctively.

If Tusker saw his gesture of temper she chose to ignore it. She jerked her head at the far side of the square. A squat, ugly van had poked its nose round a corner and now waited, menacingly. The police back-up had finally appeared, huh? But their own reinforcements were here too; the Ghoul numbers had swelled to eight, and a couple more of the Goblin Horde were sauntering across the muddy street to where he crouched. Orka and... History, he thought. As they were mostly mostly sibs and cousins, Feral had difficulty distinguishing some of the Horde. Something they now cultivated, with so many of their number gone.

He flashed a look to where the norm woman was walking slowly away, noting the street she headed towards. The two newcomers followed his gaze. History frowned and remained staring after her, his ‘remembering’ look kicking in. History's memory was more or less eidetic, but he had trouble tracking down details in the morass. The blank stare meant his brain was off running some sub-program on whatever had caught his attention. He would recite what he'd remembered soon. If they were lucky it would be some memory of seeing the woman in a supermarket. Unlucky, and they might get a list of everyone he had ever seen wearing that style of jacket.

 _Trouble?_ Orka signalled. Although several years Feral's senior, he barely came up to the albino’s shoulder. A short, squat build was as much a Goblin trait as were the prognathous jaw and pointed ears that they took so many pains to emphasise.

 _Over_ , came Tusker's reply. _Cops backed down._ True, although it might be politic to stick around a while.

 _What norm want?_ Orka was watching Webster disappear round a corner.

 _Claimed kin to Alpha_ , signed Feral. The sign for Alpha was a new one; a modification of their gesture for Stront. Orka looked dubious. Feral shrugged. _I follow. Look, listen._

He didn't need Orka's okay for his actions. He might be allied to the Horde - might run with them when the mood took him - but he was a law unto himself. Warlords were to be respected, but not necessarily obeyed. Orka deferred to him as often as the reverse. Feral was not a challenge to the Goblin’s authority; the albino had no desire to inherit the responsibility of a gang.

"I know her," said History suddenly. "I was little when I seen her, but I know her."

"Know _who?_ " demanded Tusker, obviously irritated by the shift to vocal communication.

"The norm." History gestured vaguely towards the path Webster and the girl had taken. "She's Kreelman's daughter."

~~~

 

Feral stalked. Prowled on the edge of the norm pair's vision, keeping them always just in sight. He was as conspicuous as hell if they ever had the wit to realise they were being followed; albino couldn't exactly blend into the crowd. But they had led soft, sheltered lives, so they didn't realise, didn't look back.

Feral's lip curled in contempt. Well then, maybe what History said was true. Kreelman's kin would certainly have had protection, shelter, the best of everything. Even so, they should know to watch their backs in a mutant ghetto - if History's information got around they would be rat meat.

Feral had been conceived in one of Kreelman's labour camps, so his adoptive parents told him. Would have died there unborn, if the rebels hadn't stormed the place before the norms could destroy another worthless mutie too burdened with pregnancy to work. His father _had_ died, some three months before he was born. Albino left in the sun to burn...

He flexed his clawed hand, staring after Webster. So... if she was Kreelman's daughter then he should shred her, as Tusker had suggested at History's pronouncement. But why should she claim to be Alpha's blood? What sort of norm trickery was this? At the MA their reactions, emotion - the girl especially - had seemed so real. He could not make sense of this.

They were leaving the ghetto now; cutting across the wide street which marked the boundary between his territory and their own. Feral paused; no way he could pass unnoticed in the norm quarter. But he needed to _know_...

Well then, time to put the truce to the test.

He shoved his hands in jacket pockets - no point freaking out the normals too much - and sauntered after Webster and her companion. No skulking and stalking here, unless he took to the rooftops. Anyway, a certain perverse streak wanted him to flaunt his difference. _Make_ them acknowledge his presence.

He was already attracting stares. Some disgust, some hostility, but mostly just a startled glance before looking away. Beneath contempt, huh? He put a swagger into his walk, leered at the few who openly gawped. Started to enjoy himself so much that he almost got distracted from his target. He had to dart across a road to keep her in sight.

Screech of brakes and blare of horn as a car just missed him. Feral gestured obscenely at the shocked driver, feeling a brief stirring of the warp from the adrenalin surge of the near miss. Turned and saw Webster looking back at the commotion.

Finally noticed him, huh? He felt a momentary chagrin, then gave a mental shrug. Too bad. He awarded her one of his evil grins. Webster stared at him a moment then turned away again, the girl in tow. Feral sauntered after her.

This could almost be fun.

~~~

 

There were fewer people here. Next to no-one, in fact. Webster had turned towards the outskirts of the town, heading into the residential areas near the starport. She had not looked back since the incident with the car, but the girl shot nervous glances at him a couple of times. Feral's stroll had slipped back to a stalk once more.

"Hey mutie!" A hoarse bellow off to his right.

Feral's head snapped round, pulling clawed hand free of his jacket pocket. Cops. Two of them on foot, approaching up a side street. Feral scowled at them, tensing for a possible confrontation. A quick glance showed that Webster had paused, looking back at the call.

"This is off limits. You'd better have ID and authorisation, freak." The shorter of the two continued forward; a stocky woman with cropped blonde hair. Her companion paused, calling the incident through.

"And if I don't?" Feral tipped back his head defiantly.

"Cocky little son of a bitch, aren't we?" The cop halted a metre away, reaching for handcuffs. "You're nicked, freak."

"Have to catch me first, norm!" Feral span, twisting away from a grab. Sprinted for the building behind and up the short flight of steps. Jumped, caught the door lintel and swarmed upwards. Buildings were easy - nice regular toe and hand holds. He pushed upwards from a window ledge and grabbed the edge of the roof, ignoring yells to halt from the police below.

The first shot clipped the stonework as he swung himself over and on to the flat roof. Feral laughed out loud. Predictable, so predictable. He rolled to make sure he was out of sight, then flung back his head and howled, the warp tugging slightly at his senses. Rooftops were _his_ domain. No over-fed, lame-brained norm copper with the reflexes of a slug could catch him here.

He scrambled upright and sprinted along the row of buildings, vaulting the low walls between them without breaking stride. One final leap, and he came to a precipitous halt crouched on the edge. In the narrow street below, Webster and the girl looked up from the entrance of a small hotel on the corner. The woman stared at him with disapproval, but with a possible tinge of amusement. A yell from somewhere behind indicated that he had been sighted again. Feral awarded Webster another grin and leaped for the opposite rooftop.

Not a difficult jump for him, even from a standing start. He landed, span to flip the bird at the female officer just rounding the corner below, and raced off.

Pity he hadn't had time to scrawl his name somewhere.

~~~

 

"You'd better lie low for a few days." Orka eyed Feral as the albino squatted on the floor of the Goblin HQ, wolfing down chips. "Cops have been nosing round after you."

"Me?" Feral looked up, affecting innocence. Mundy and Tusker took the opportunity to snaffle a handful of chips. He swiped at them playfully.

"How many other albinos with claws are there?" growled Orka. "You've got a rep."

"Hah!" He'd had a rep since the coup. Churchers were gone now, but other norms remembered. He wanted them to remember. Wanted to grind their faces into the fact that he was Feral... was different... was answerable to no-one. And if they hunted him for it - so what? It all added to the rush. Part of running on the Edge. Now that he had tasted that, no-one was going to take it away.

But at the moment there were more important things to worry about than hazing norms. The puzzle of the Webster woman and her supposed kinship to Alpha still nagged at him. He had told Orka what he had learned on his stalk - which was precious little - but the warlord was preoccupied, brooding over the Kreelman link.

Another puzzle. Orka was convinced that it was some trickery by the norms - some new foulness about to come into play. Feral wasn't so sure. Maybe just once History could be _wrong_. He had stopped off at the MA on his way here to harass Napoleon for information. And was told yes, Kreelman did have a daughter called Ruth, but she left Britain years ago, at the end of the mutant war. She had not been active politically, Napoleon said.

So... History had been three years old when he saw Ruth. She herself could only have been eighteen or nineteen, according to Napoleon. Could even History's eidetic memory compensate for changes over the time interval? Feral did not have Orka's faith.

Still, he knew where the norms were staying now. Plus there was a nice tree-filled park next to the hotel. There he could watch two sides of the building. So while the cops were treading on toes in the ghetto searching for him, he would hide out in the heart of their territory.

Only fair, wasn't it?

~~~

 

He had found a vantage point in the limbs of a tree; leaves and darkness hiding him from norm eyes. He had returned at twilight, taking the route the Horde used when some of their members went on a foray into norm territory. But no boosting cars or breaking and entering this evening - tonight he stuck to the rooftops and did not descend to ground level until he reached the open ground opposite Webster's hotel.

A pretty park. Lots of leafy trees and regularly spaced flower beds. All the shrubs trimmed neatly into shape. Nothing wild or unkempt here. Feral hated it. Norms couldn't even leave the fragging plants alone to grow as they wanted.

He had been Outside. Seen the riot of green, the choked tangle of life everywhere he looked. Grass long enough to ripple like water in the wind; the carcass of a fallen tree alive with fungi. He'd got high on the space and the overwhelming aliveness. A grip almost as powerful as the warp in its own way.

A grip the grief-rage of Alpha's death had loosened, on his subsequent travels through the wildlands. Another loss he could hate the norms for.

He watched until the moon was high in the sky, its crescent tinged blue by the rad-shields that overshadowed the norm quarter. Several people came and went from the building; several silhouettes were seen at windows. None were identifiable as Webster or the girl. Feral wedged himself more securely into his perch and dozed, awakened periodically by the lights of a passing vehicle.

He left his post briefly at sunrise to relieve his bladder among the norms' tidy shrubbery. Then a quick foray to one of the park vending machines for something to quiet his growling stomach. Safely back in his vantage point, he licked chocolate off his claws and watched a patrol car skirt the edge of the park.

Feral's patience had almost evaporated when the girl reappeared. The novelty of a prolonged watch had long since faded. _Doing_ was much better than watching. He had already carved his name in the bark of the tree to relieve the tedium, and had been sorely tempted to leap out at the few norms that had wandered through the park. Immensely satisfying, but scarcely good tactics.

The girl was alone. She emerged from the door nearest to him, and wandered listlessly across the road to the park itself. She continued to meander a while, trailing fingers across the occasional shrub or flower, but not really seeming to see them. Eventually she settled on a bench, a plucked frond twirling in her hands; aimlessly stripping the leaflets from it, one by one.

Feral edged forward on his branch, balanced on the balls of his feet. He recognised distress when he saw it. So what was the cause of this? Little norm get bawled out by Mummy? Or was this still part of what happened yesterday? He dug his claws into the wood, frustrated at all the unanswered questions.

The girl dropped her frond. Pulled something out of her jacket pocket and toyed listlessly with that instead. ID card? Looked about that size. Feral squinted through the leaves, trying to get a better view.

"All alone little norm?" The voice that cut across the girl's brooding had venom in it.

Tusker. Feral twisted round in surprise, pushing a handful of leaves out of his way. The Goblin stood on the edge of the park, between the girl and her hotel. Beside her was Sharky of the Ghouls, and posted on the corner - obviously on watch for the police - was Mundy. Been a lot of people using the safe route recently.

The girl looked up in startlement, dropping her card. "What-?"

"Baby Kreeler got no Churchers to protect her?" That was Sharky, her hand resting on a knife hilt.

"I don't understand..." The child was edging away, flashing anxious glances to the haven of the hotel. Sharky drew the knife.

"No!" Feral hurled himself from his hiding place, leaves scattering in all directions. A blur of black and white motion, interposing itself between mutants and norm. Clawed right hand pulled back, threatening to strike. "Back off - she's barely twelve years old!"

"And how old was Sid when he died?" Tusker's temper was also on the boil, matching Feral's own. Too much frustration, too few targets to strike back at.

"Sid knew. Sid _chose_."

"Sid _died!_ "

" _I would have died for Alpha!_ " He screamed it. In his voice all the guilt that Feral the street kid lived while Alpha died.

"Fuck you. I'm gonna mark the Kreeler brat." Sharky lunged, trying to reach past him to the girl.

His threatened claws slashed, raking along Sharky's arm and deflecting her strike. The norm girl screamed as Tusker made a grab for her. Sharky cursed and struck at him. Feral pivoted and kicked, bringing her down - but not before the blade had sliced his bare arm. He felt the warp roaring through his veins as he turned and flung himself upon Tusker. Rolled and pinned the Goblin; the warp bringing strength even as it distorted muscle and bone.

"Blood for blood, Tusker." Animal sharp teeth and altered tongue made speech difficult during the warp. "Mine for Sharky's, eh?"

Tusker was still and silent, knowing the fury of the warp.

He turned his head and hissed at where the Ghoul was starting to rise. She froze, having heard rumour of Feral's berserk status when Changed. He grinned, showing pointed teeth, then twisted at the sound of running feet.

The norm girl, fleeing back to the hotel.

Feral laughed and twisted off Tusker to land crouched on the bench the girl had occupied. He licked at the knife score on the back of his arm. "If the mother's a Churcher then you can chase _her_ , Tusker. But if she's Kreeler then it's a matter for McNulty and the Dogs. And if she’s true kin to Alpha, anyone who touches either of them answers to me."

"If they're blood, no-one would want to touch them." Tusker pulled herself slowly to her feet, still wary of Feral's mood.

"They're not blood!" Sharky spat.

"Cops!" Mundy's shouted warning shattered the deadlock.

With a muttered "Shit!" Tusker headed for a side street, Mundy racing to join her. Sharky gave Feral one more filthy look before following.

The albino himself paused only to snatch up the card the child had dropped before sprinting across the park. Grabbed a low branch, swung to a higher. Jumped to a statue of some long dead norm monarch, then a leap for the roof of the low building in front. The warp took all the fear out of it; blurred the edge of a near miss. Hardly made it worth it really.

He stayed on the roof long enough to check the cops didn't follow Tusker and the others, then loped off to view his prize.

~~~

 

It wasn't an ID card, it was a holo. Not even an expensive one - the cheap type of snapshot that any of the ghetto inhabitants might have. Old too, and kind of battered, like it had been handled a lot. A date printed on the back confirmed its age.

A picture of the girl, aged maybe five or six. Giggling, waving her free hand at whoever held the camera. The other arm wrapped firmly round the neck of Johnny Alpha.

Feral squatted with arms wrapped round his knees, willing his breathing to settle and the warp to fade. Muscles started to shiver as they were released from tension, and he felt his jaw crackle and settle back to normal. Less easy to control were his whirling thoughts. Somehow he hadn't quite believed. Despite what he had said to Tusker. To be confronted with concrete evidence came as a shock. Why hadn't Middenface told him Johnny had norm relatives? Or was the picture a fake? And could History's memory be trusted?

He needed to talk to some of the Stronts.

~~~

 

Feral located Middenface finishing off some kind of war council with two other Strontium Dogs in a dark corner of a pub. The Stronts were nervous these days, anticipating some kind of backlash from the destruction of a large part of Salisbury when the Doghouse blew. Blame would be apportioned to the defenceless, as per usual, and most of the Stronts were keenly aware of how few of them remained.

Not knowing the other two, Feral hung back until they departed, their business finished. Then he slid deftly into one of the vacated seats, forestalling Middenface's preparations to leave. The man raised a quizzical eyebrow.

"Middenface..." He halted, unsure exactly what he wanted to know. Or _if_ he wanted to know.

"Bit o' a rammy?" McNulty had noticed the shallow cut from his tussle with Sharky and Tusker.

"Middenface, does Alpha have kin? Norm kin?" he blurted out, not wanting side-tracked into explaining the fight.

McNulty sat back, frowning thoughtfully. "Aye," he acknowledged. "We all dae somewhere."

"You can tell me names and things?" Hope rose; maybe it was a con after all.

"Again aye - but ye'll no like whit I tell ye."

"I need to know." This half-certainty was killing him. He wanted to know what to _do._

"Sagan," said Middenface. "Sagan, for one."

" _Sagan?_ " His incredulous outburst was loud enough to attract stares from people around them. Feral spared them all a fierce glare, but clamped down on further vocalisation. Sagan... Kreelman... shit, this was getting too much to deal with.

"I thoucht ye kent. Sagan was spouting his mouth aff, afore he slung ye through the gate."

"I was out cold," said Feral. The Churchers had clubbed him unconscious. He hadn't seen Johnny go down.

Middenface shrugged apologetically. "Sagan wis Johnny's half-brither. Their faether-"

"Kreelman," breathed Feral. It was true, but it still didn't make sense.

McNulty nodded.

Feral slumped back in his seat, gesturing helplessly. Unable to express what he felt. How could Kreelman be father to a mutant? The fascist snecker would have slit a mutie kid's throat at birth. Could Alpha be a bastard son that Kreelman didn't know about?

"Wha' telt ye?" McNulty asked.

He looked up. "You heard about the trouble yesterday? At the listings?" A nod. "There was a norm woman who claimed to be Johnny's kin. One of the Horde says she's Ruth Kreelman."

Again a nod.

"So what does she want? Is she here to cause trouble? Is she for real?"

"Whit dae ye think?"

Feral shoved one hand in jacket pocket, his fingers curling round the photo. He pulled it out slowly and stared at it a moment, before sliding it across to Middenface. "I don't know." He didn't want trouble - did not want another set of norms stirring things up for his people. So he hoped the concern Webster and her daughter had shown was genuine. But at the same time he didn't want it to be true. Did not want any norm association with Alpha's name. Especially not Kreelman. Johnny was mutant - he belonged to _them._

"Johnny wis cagey aboot his past. Canny if Kreelman wis in his bloodline. But I ken some, and whit I do ken is he kept contact wi a sister until a few years back." McNulty handed back the photo. "She cannae help her parentage ony more than he can."

"The gangs are out for blood," said Feral. He fingered the picture again, envious of the relaxed Alpha it showed. He had known him so briefly, and virtually all that time was in the heat of battle. Jealous too of the mere possession of the item. Feral had no mementoes but the memory of death.

"I can warn them aff."

"Okay." If Middenface intervened, it would mean making peace with Tusker would be easier later. And now he had other business to fulfil. Business like talking to these norm kin of Johnny.

~~~

 

Things were not as stirred up in the norm quarter as he expected. He thought after his clash with Tusker and Sharky, irate citizens would be patrolling to keep their streets clear of the genetically imperfect. There were a few extra cops about, but they were easy enough to dodge. Feral sat back in his tree and thought about this. The incident _must_ have been reported; Christ, they would have frightened Webster's girl witless. Sharky wasn't visibly mutant, but there was no way he or Tusker could be mistaken for anything else. He sighed. How could he faze the normals if they wouldn't even play by their own rules?

He mulled over the problem of how to speak to Webster. Although the idea of just sauntering into the hotel and demanding to see her held great appeal, he knew he would be up to his ears in cops in thirty seconds flat. His best bet was just hanging around here, and hoping to be awake if and when she emerged. Providing his patience lasted that long.

In the end it was the girl he saw again, not Webster. She scurried across the street to the park, a hasty glance back over her shoulder at the building. Not supposed to be out, eh? Feral slid out of his tree and crouched in the shadows at its base. Should he try talking to the girl?

She was looking for something. Wandering back and forth, eyes glued to the ground, except to dart the occasional look at the hotel. She stopped to speak to a man sitting at the scene of that morning's incident, but he shook his head after a moment or two assisting her search.

The photo. Feral's fingers curled guiltily round the holo he still had in one pocket. By rights it was his - she had abandoned it. Still... He slunk round the edge of one of the artistically pruned shrubs, hoping to avoid too much attention from the few norms around. Stepped out in front of the girl, the holo silently offered in left hand.

She jumped in fright, and then stood staring at him. Her eyes moved to the picture, but she made no move to take it. Feral stared back, searching for any resemblance to Johnny.

"Marci! Marci, I told you to-" Webster, striding angrily across the street towards her daughter, stopped short as she caught sight of Feral.

Beyond her, on the pavement opposite, another couple of norms had registered the albino skin and hair, and were staring openly. The girl backed up against her mother.

Feral looked down at the photo and then back at Webster. "You're sister to him?"

"Yes." She gazed at him appraisingly, and in her face he could faintly detect Alpha's likeness. "You knew Johnny?"

He nodded.

"Did you-?" She stopped, struggling to find words. Gripped her daughter's shoulder to reassure herself. "Were you there when...?" She trailed off.

There when he died? God, yes. Had assisted in the preparations, ignorant of what they led to. He nodded dumbly.

"We need to talk." She gestured towards the hotel.

"In _there?_ " The suggestion that he could walk openly into a norm residence was enough to shock him out of his guilt.

"Why not? I can sign in guests." There was a set to Webster's face which definitely had the Alpha hallmark of defiance.

Feral grinned maliciously. "Sure." He started to swagger across the street.

Behind him he heard the girl whisper "He scares me", and her mother's reply: "Don't worry. You scare him too."

~~~

 

Feral pulled his legs up under him to sit cross-legged in an armchair in Webster's rooms. The place wasn't as upmarket as he had originally thought. The security arrangements certainly weren't spectacular; he could probably disable most of the locks and cameras himself, and for someone of Tusker's talent it would be a walk-over. This place might be worth hitting in a couple of weeks - perhaps this was the info he could use to placate Tusker and Sharky.

Better stay clear of the job himself; he was sure the reception staff had recorded his image from every conceivable angle. They would remember him here for a long time to come. He had better be conspicuously elsewhere if anything went down here.

Webster had got him past reception without too much hassle. Just enough it would make the story worth repeating when he got back to the ghetto. Once inside, she had given him something to drink, and settled down to talk.

She had provided some information first, perhaps sensing nervousness beneath his bravado. She was Ruth Webster nee Kreelman, and was full sister to Johnny Alpha. Her brother rejected relationship to Kreelman; Webster just ignored it. From what Feral gathered, Marci understood little of what Kreelman or Alpha had been, either from a mutant or normal viewpoint.

"You haven't told her?" Feral had asked, when the girl vanished briefly into the bathroom.

"Tell her _what?_ " Webster countered. "That her grandfather was directly responsible for the deaths of thirty five thousand people? That Johnny fought in one of the bloodiest civil wars this century? That's not for a child to know."

" _I_ knew." Every mutant child knew. It was part of their heritage to know.

"Knew that your family started and ended it?" she had asked. "Fought on both sides? Not until she's old enough to understand _all_ of it."

Marci returned and he dropped the matter, though he still disagreed. It was part of her legacy as well as his. Doubly so because of her bloodlines.

The girl was still noticeably nervous. She sat in her mother's shadow, and watched him from behind a fringe of blonde hair. Jumped if he gestured with clawed hand. _She_ had seen him warp. He had the feeling the encounter had lost something in its translation to her mother. Well, no matter.

Now it was his turn. Time to tell what he knew, what he had seen. Elaborate the bare bones of the data disk she received. Feral drained the glass he held, and wordlessly held it out for a refill. He would prefer to be totally blitzed before he had to recite the tale again, but even a couple of shots would help. Marci cuddled in closer to her mother as he emptied the second shot. He rolled the glass aimlessly between his palms for a moment, staring at it blankly. Then began.

He started with Stonehenge; the gateway and the battle. No need to tell of his original clash with the Stronts - his first twenty four hours with Alpha. Those were _his_ memories, _his_ inheritance. So then, the gateway, the forced exodus. The battle with Sagan and the Churchers, culminating in him going down.

He told of waking on the other side - Utopia. Hah! Barren rock with mist swirling round their knees. Twisted, blasted trees and not a living thing in sight, except the muties Sagan had herded through. Well, the second group of mutants at least; all that remained of the majority of the first was dried bone. Flesh blasted off, life sucked out. The newcomers barely had time to wonder and fear at the carnage before the Lyran struck again.

Feral hissed with fury at the memory, clenched hand threatening to break the glass he held. Hunger and death, it had swept through their ranks like a fire; dozens slain before they could react. No weapons, no defences - their only recourse was to run. How did you fight a thing like that?

Alpha had been unconscious, badly worked over by Sagan. Feral dragged him to the only safety they had - caves beyond the reach of the dragon's claws. Caves where the Goblin Horde and the other survivors huddled, waiting to starve. Johnny had recovered, seen the mass slaughter outside, and forced a mind link with the thing. In return, it had burned his eyes from their sockets.

"Blind?" Webster had gone white. Feral nodded silently. "Oh god, blind."

Loss of sight terrified Feral. Ninety percent of what he lived for, of what made him Feral, depended on vision. If he was blinded... He was filled with the awful knowledge that he might seek suicide - the knowledge that Alpha had been offered the same choices, had made the same decision. Had there been another route out? One which didn't involve death as a trigger? Johnny never told them any alternatives, never discussed what he was going to do. He just told them there was a way out, and they had jumped at it. There would have been argument and protest if anyone had guessed what was involved.

"Feral?" Webster was concerned at his continuing silence.

"He let himself die!" He looked up at her, eyes full of anguish. "Let that thing destroy him. Used his blood to reopen the gateway. It should have been one of us!"

This time the glass did shatter. He felt lancing pain across his palm and blinked stupidly at the blood welling as the last shard fell to the floor. Webster reached for his wrist, but he snatched the hand away, pulling it to his chest. No. The pain was his; part of what he needed to feel at the moment.

"Don't be a fool."

"Leave it," he growled.

She stared at him in mixed exasperation and anger, before rising and disappearing from the room. Marci scuttled to the furthest end of the sofa, wide-eyed. Webster returned, flinging a towel at him. "Don't get blood on the damn furniture then," she snapped.

He rested his hand on the fold of the towel, keeping the palm open to the air. Webster scowled down at him and snapped her fingers at the disposal bot, hovering nearby. The unit swept into action, spiriting away even the smallest shards. The couple of bright splashes of blood it hesitated over, then scurried away.

"Do you know my first hint my brother might be dead?" Webster asked abruptly. Her tone was aggressive, angry.

He shook his head.

"A little short of two million credits turned up in my account. Just arrived there, out of the blue. No warning, no explanation, nothing."

"Meant he was dead," he said dully.

"Meant he was dead or on the run."

She paused, and he thought about the implications of this. Of what things it meant Alpha might have had to do to protect himself in the past. They didn't like muties with money.

"Hassling banks and lawyers got a list of people his money had been divided between, and the fact he was 'believed dead' in the Doghouse affair. No-one knew for sure."

"No-one cared."

"That's right. No-one cared." She sat down suddenly, the fight draining out of her. Marci snaked an arm round her mother, gazing anxiously into her face. Webster ignored her, staring into space.

"I hadn't seen Johnny for five years," she said at last, talking almost to herself. "Last time... Last time the killing spilled over into our lives, _our_ homes. Threatened Marci." She looked up, her eyes focussing on Feral, voice dropping to a whisper. "I threw him out. Haven't seen him since."

Oh sneck, she blames herself, he thought, and laughter welled up uncontrollably. Laughter with a hysterical edge. How many more held themselves responsible for Alpha's death?

~~~

 

Feral loped back to the mutant quarter, heedless of norms. It was sticky and close; abnormally so for the time of year. He scowled to himself at the humidity, sniffing thunder in the air. Storms he liked, but the build-up beforehand he could do without.

His hand ached. It was bandaged now - Webster insisted he do something about it before he left. The bleeding had more or less stopped. The pain didn't feel sharp any more, for which he was perversely annoyed.

At first Webster had been shocked at his laughter. Sat and gaped at him as he buried his head in the bloodied towel, shoulders shaking. But then the emotion seemed to fade, and she just sat and watched until it distorted to hiccoughs and he choked it off. He'd felt sick for a while after that. Webster had given him another drink and continued to talk as if there had been no break.

She had listed the names who had a share in Alpha's money. Most he didn't know, but McNulty was one, Billy Glum another. This brought doubts - to Feral, Middenface seemed obsessive about money. He would definitely have mentioned a legacy. He said as much to Webster.

She had frowned. "What about Billy?" Her list said something about money and land.

"Billy's dead."

"Then it would go to whoever's Mutant Association leader now."

Feral wasn't exactly sure if there _was_ a leader now; things had been somewhat chaotic, and Utopia had claimed most of Billy's likely successors. Napoleon had sort of inherited by default there being no necessity for his former post of recruiter-trainer for the Dogs. But that big an inflow of cash into the MA _everyone_ would know about. He shook his head.

Webster's frown deepened. "Someone's sitting on that money," she said.

Some norm or other. Trying to stop it reaching mutant hands. Well, he would spread the word. See how long the norms schemes could stand up in the backlash from the Sagan affair. Thwart a few plans. Maybe Webster could exert some leverage too. She was okay, for a norm.

Well, then. Stop off for a quick word with Napoleon, then the rooftop route to the Goblin HQ, just in case the cops were still nosing about. He sniffed the air again, tasting static. Storm was going to be a good one. He could almost feel the whisper of the warp in his blood.

Maybe he'd had one drink too many at Webster's place?

~~~

 

Someone far away was calling his name.

He rolled on to his back, yawning massively. Dull grey light filtered in through the window. Shit, he hadn't meant to fall asleep - just to grab something to eat in between tracking down the Goblins and the Ghouls. He grimaced at the sour taste in his mouth. Still not sure if the call which woke him had been real or imagined, Feral sat up, stretching stiff joints. An empty plate slid off the sofa to join an overturned mug on the floor.

" _FERAL!_ " An irate shout, accompanied by a stone bouncing off the window. "Dammit, I know you're in there!"

Aha! So the voice had been real after all. He negotiated the debris on the floor and sprang to perch on the small window-sill. Shoving the top half down and leaning out, he saw Orka. Tusker lurked a few metres away, scowling. Orka was saying something barely audible.

"What?" He cupped clawed hand to his ear.

"I said that norm's back. She wants to see you."

Webster? He hoped Sharky wasn't around. Tusker he had semi-placated, but the Ghoul was likely to bear a grudge for weeks. "What's she want?"

"How should I know? Napoleon's all riled up though." The warlord adopted a glower to rival Tusker's. "How about some speed?"

"Aww, go suck on it Goblin," he growled back half-heartedly. "Five minutes." He ducked back inside and engaged in a brief excavation to find his boots. Webster and Napoleon got together, eh? Could be interesting.

~~~

 

Webster was at the MA building, Napoleon and a couple of the kids that had been trainee Stronts in attendance. There was no sign of the girl. It was oppressively hot inside. Bad enough outdoors - Feral was dripping with sweat by the time they arrived. He flung his jacket in a corner and stripped off his T-shirt, towelling himself roughly dry with it.

"They've been snecking us over," said Napoleon grimly. The dwarf was obviously tense about Webster’s presence. Whether due to her status as norm or as blood-kin to Alpha, Feral could not tell.

"They always do." Napoleon had always tried to play by the rules. Even the shitty ones the norms laid down. Stick within the law, follow a set path, and you might aspire to the dizzy heights of being abused by norms all over the galaxy, not just in one insignificant little ghetto.

Napoleon grunted and outlined what the norms had been up to. There _was_ money due to the MA - almost two million. There was some sort of land lease on Smiley's World too, but that was to be administered through a norm woman called Eleanor Keeble. Webster didn't know her. Neither the MA nor any other mutant named in Johnny's will had received anything.

"We'll fight them," said Napoleon.

"And chalk up two million credits worth of legal bills," muttered Orka. "What if we lose?"

"Money goes to next of kin," said Webster, with a smile. Napoleon blinked in surprise.

Feral grinned widely. "Think you can pull it off?”

Webster shrugged. “Never know until you try.”

~~~

 

Feral's hands were cupped round a reasonably cold drink cajoled from one of the MA's ancient vending machines. As Webster and Napoleon debated legal niceties he didn't even attempt to understand, he cooled off sufficiently to pull back on T-shirt and jacket. Whilst he didn't mind flaunting albino skin with black clothing and one arm bare, he had been burned too badly, too often to be entirely happy about staying uncovered for long.

The ex-trainees had gone, chased off on some errand for Nap. Tusker had dozed off in a corner. Orka still remained attentive, squatting to listen to the law talk. But then he had always been possessed of more patience than Feral.

He sighed. They didn't need him here. He didn't even know why Orka had bothered to fetch him - Webster had barely said two sentences to him. Just now he could quite happily be asleep, or... More than just restlessness ate at him. It was all over here. He unwound the dressing from his hand and stared at the gash. Time to cauterise old wounds.

The others did not notice him leave.

~~~

 

Feral danced.

Turned and stamped, with his hair flying in the wind and the music pounding in his ears. Crouched and leapt and span with the beat, balanced precariously on the roof edge. Shoulders shaking, head snapping back with almost enough violence to loosen his shades. Revelling in space all around him and the wind whipping in his face.

Raked the sky with the claws which distinguished his right hand; slashed and kicked and roared. Marked time with strikes and kicks; stopped and posed and struck again. Jacked up the volume as he felt the warp begin to take him. Adrenalin surging through his veins; heartbeat in rhythm with the music.

Leapt to the flat roof of the next building, feeling muscle and bone stretch and distort with the painless agony of the warp. Landed crouched with claws outstretched and bared his now jagged teeth in a snarl. Paused for barely an instant, then was up and whirling in his stamping, kicking dance again.

War dance. Warp dance. Every fight he had ever been in, every rage he had ever known. Thrown back at the world in flashing, swirling motion. Muscles at times almost in spasm, as warp vied with rhythm.

He howled defiance as he felt rain begin to fall; the rumble of thunder counterpoint to his rage. Danced for Johnny, for Billy Glum, for Sid of the Goblin Horde. Quivered, snarled, clawed his hate for Sagan and the Churchers.

Rain was falling in earnest now, plastering white hair to his skull and running down inside his jacket to soak into T-shirt. He barely registered the fact, too absorbed in memory and hammering drumbeat.

It neared crescendo and Feral was on his knees, spine arched back, whole body twitching and shaking. Climax, and a clawed fist punched sky-wards, his scream drowned out by crash of lightning.

He tore the earphones free and slumped forward; warp and adrenalin surge fading together. Sprawled on wet concrete, lungs still heaving with exertion. Water pooled around him. Drained... exhausted. Catharsis. He felt himself slipping into semi-consciousness as muscles settled back to normal. Aching and starting to shiver. The warp always took too much out of him.

"Feral! Feral!"

"Huh?" He blinked groggily and pulled himself over to the edge. Water ran down his hair as he looked over.

Napoleon, squinting up through the rain.

Feral gave a soft moan. He ached, He wanted to sleep. In some crevice in his mind he supposed he should be grateful to the trainer for rousing him enough to consider getting out of the rain. But he didn't particularly care; he had always survived before.

A flash and simultaneous boom of thunder drowned out Nappy's next phrase. Conversation was going to be impossible like this. He staggered upright, grimacing at stiff muscles. Thought briefly about jumping to street level, but decided he was too tired to judge the leap in the rain and would probably screw up the landing. A sprained or broken limb he could do without. He took the safe - if less spectacular - route down the fire escape, dropping the last couple of meters and splashing the already soaked Napoleon.

The trainer frowned and ducked his head towards a doorway at least partially sheltered from the downpour. Feral nodded and followed.

"She's left."

"Who? Webster?"

"Yes. Going to head out for Smiley's World to find this Eleanor Keeble."

"Oh." Business here was finished then?

"She wanted to speak to you, but you had sloped off." Napoleon gave him a long suffering look. He had always been hard pressed to keep Feral's attention fixed on anything.

He shrugged. He had never been particularly adept at farewells.

"She left this for you." Napoleon dug into a pocket, handing him an envelope.

His name was scrawled on it in water blurred handwriting. Feral slit it open with thumb claw and fished out the contents. The holo: Alpha and Marci, all those years ago. He stared at it blankly a moment. He had almost kept it. Almost neglected to admit he possessed it. Now it was back. He gave a short bark of laughter.

Napoleon looked concerned. "You okay?" he inquired.

"Yeah, sure," he muttered, only half listening. "When did she go?"

"Not long ago. Half an hour?"

Still time then. Ignoring both protesting muscles and a startled Napoleon, he sprinted for the fire escape and scrambled back up the side of the building. Thunder growled again, and he snarled back under his breath. Time enough...

~~~

 

Again into the norm quarter. This time in darkness, with eerie flashes illuminating the rooftops at intervals. The lightning made things jump out at him, fouling his perception of distance. Enough of the Edge to dissipate even post-warp listlessness. Risk and choice. Threat and decision. Jump, pause and jump again; the possibility of a fall raising adrenalin levels once more.

No rain here, of course; the norms' shields kept out such inconveniences as radiation and weather. Just the flashes and the slightly muted roar of thunder. Everything watered down, everything preset and pre-selected.

Anyone who had the wit could track him by the trail of wet hand and footprints, or splashes where hair and clothing dripped. Track him all the way to the corner opposite Webster's hotel. The park to one side, with its paths of streetlights winding through it. In the street below, a taxi; android driver loading bags, Webster directing it. Marci sat on the steps to the main entrance, looking dejected.

In the pause between cracks of thunder Feral let out a war whoop. Webster looked up and swore; Marci darted to her side. Only the android remained impassive.

"Hear me, sister!" He was well aware of the sight he presented, silhouetted on the edge of the building, illuminated by lightning. Pale skin, white hair. Ghoul, wraith, demon. "He knew. He prepared. He _chose_."

"Yes." And her voice was _his_ then. Had Alpha's tone, his feel. "He chose."

Thunder boomed again, and he resisted the urge to leap into silver and black space. Sid chose, Alpha chose, _he_ chose. Chose life; chose the edge.

Skate or die.

There is _always_ a choice.


End file.
